


Who Asked

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [36]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Mystrade Prompt Challenge, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Anthea finds out who asked who out first...





	Who Asked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Drink

“I’m curious, who asked who out first?” Anthea broke the quiet ride from Diogenes one evening.  

“How..?” Mycroft started to ask, _it was just last night(!)_ , but the woman was his aide de camp for a reason.

“He seduced me with a maraschino cherry at Baker Street.”

“Lestrade? Oh this you have to tell me!” She grinned.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes stepped into the flat of 221B and looked at the scene before him.

_Well someone has been drinking._

The sitting room of 221B smelled like a bar.  Sherlock’s suit blazer and one of John’s jumpers were in a heap on the sofa next to a heavy leather biker jacket.

There were three bottles of not exactly cheap scotch open with shot glasses beside them. One bottle had fallen aside recently, its contents slowly dripped to the carpet beside a sleeping Sherlock.

_Oh, that cannot be comfortable._

His brother was sprawled in his chair by the fire place. In truth, sprawled out of it was a more precise description as only his head and an arm were in actual contact with the chair at odd angles. His long limbs spread out before him as he slumbered. It looked for all the world as though his body turned gelatinous, slid out of the chair and he fell asleep where he landed.

_Brother Mine, you must be dead to the world to sleep through that racket._

For if the onerous and loud noises from upstairs were any indication – _can one call such_ resonances _breathing_ – the good Doctor Watson had been equally, if not more so in his cups.

_At least he made it to his bed. No, he had help. Who’s here?_

Mycroft put down his briefcase, his hand tightened on his umbrella handle fully prepared to use the blade or if necessary the gun. A much appreciated closing of the bedroom door that significantly lowered the decibels therein and familiar if slightly unsteady foots steps returned to the room.

He now knew the owner of the leather jacket and loosened his grip.

“Holmes! Hi! Oh, umm… Evening! I didn’t know you were here! Good to see ya!”

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade leaned against the door frame, though in far better shape than either Sherlock or John, he also looked a little worse for wear.

Still, Mycroft could not help but drink in the sight of him.

_By God he’s gorgeous._

Gregory was in casual clothes. Jeans ripped at one knee - that fit him all too well, a black Pink Floyd concert tee. One that Mycroft knew was years old, but it still fit the solid torso of the wearer. Still, this late in the evening Mycroft could not help but notice his stubble. Gregory’s leather biker boots were like the man a little worn, but rugged.

It was a good look on him; a very good look. Mycroft had suspected a decent body was hidden under the ill-fitting suits the detective inspector wore for work, but having this confirmation was in a word…

_Delectable._

_And I can add that to the many things he can never know I think of when I think of him._

He remembered then that Gregory, Sherlock, and John had solved the case of the serial killer that had abducted young teen girls and mutilated them. The killer and his accomplice mutilated those poor girls in ways that had sickened even him when his brother had told him the gory details. It was a hard case and Gregory’s superiors had ordered the cop take a few days off. 

_This was clearly a social call to blow off some steam. He had rode his Harley here and then they went out drinking only to return here and drink some more._

Even into his cups Gregory was aware enough to raise a curious brow. Mycroft realized he had not responded to the greeting.

“I have only just arrived. I had popped by to convince my brother to go Musgrave Hall for Mummy’s birthday with me, before I headed home. We’ve missed the past two; I do not think we will be forgiven this one, as it is a milestone one. But I get here and see… _this_ …” Mycroft raised a brow, his hand gestured to Sherlock.

“Oi! He slid out again!” Lestrade did what might have been a facepalm, had his palm made full contact with his face, “I’s putting them to bed. Figure I do the hard one first, ya know - stairs. Left him water and paracetamol. Gonna do same for him, ‘cause it’s not going to be pretty in the morning anyway. At least they won’t be waking up all cramped.” Lestrade pulled himself from the door frame and looked at Sherlock as if just noticing his position, “Oof, that can’t be comfy.”

_You can barely stand; you certainly would drop my brother._

“How about you get the water and paracetamol for him and I get my brother.” Mycroft quickly intercepted the DI, placing a hand on Gregory’s chest.

_His very solid chest._

Without a thought, Mycroft had just done something he had only dreamed about before that moment.

_No, Mycroft, move your hand._

His hand was not listening. Whether by gravity or desire it slid down a few centimeters.

_No! Not like that!_

“Right… right…good idea Holmes.” Lestrade nodded his head, but did not otherwise move.

“Mycroft,” he corrected.

“What?”

Mycroft finally, but regretfully, forced his hand to listen as he quickly walked to his brother and pulled him from his chair. “Outside of work, Gregory, I think you’ve earned the right to call me by my given name.”

“Oh… Thank you… Mycroft.” There was a slight pause as Gregory tried it out. “I like the way you feel on my lips.”

“Excuse me?” Mycroft nearly dropped Sherlock as he looked to Gregory.

“Your name.” He explained completely oblivious “The way I kind of have to purse my lips to pronounce the “cr” and the breath that passes over my lips near the end. It’s like a sip of a cool drink but in other way ‘round.”

Gregory looked at Mycroft as if really seeing him.

“I forgot how strong you are…Hol…Mycroft.” There was no mistaking the heated look Gregory Lestrade gave him as Mycroft hoisted his brother in his arms in a move practiced from a long ago. “It’s been years since you’ve had to do that. I guess that’s a good thing, no?”

Mycroft realized Lestrade was correct. The last time he carried his brother was his last near overdose. It was the night he met the then Sergeant Gregory Lestrade.  It was Gregory who got Sherlock to mostly stay clean with the promises of cases. Mycroft was ever grateful to the police officer for doing what was next to nothing for him, but meant everything to Mycroft.

He looked at the drunk bundle in his arms knowing he would happily bear this over a drug induced stupor any day. “Yes, Gregory. It is a very good thing.”

He laid his bother on the bed, removed his shoes and clothes, leaving him in his pants and undershirt and pulled the covers over him. Sherlock had turned on his side towards him, his mouth slightly open and for a moment Mycroft saw the beautiful curly haired cherub he had been. Gregory came in and placed the water and meds on the nightstand. Mycroft nodded his thanks. He looked at his baby brother and took advantage of the moment, knowing Sherlock would never know and ran his hand through the still soft curls as he had when they young.

“A very good thing, indeed. The world needs Sherlock Holmes.”

“He’s such a dick sometimes – well most times, really, but he’s a decent mate.” Gregory stood in the door.

Mycroft chuckled to himself finding no lie in the blunt assessment as he stood and turned off the light. “That he is.”

Silently they returned to the sitting room and set things relatively right.

Mycroft had opened a window slightly to let some fresh into the room when Gregory broke the silence.

“Would you like to go out for a drink?” Gregory asked as he left the kitchen with a jar of maraschino cherries in his hand.

“…Go out for a drink?” Mycroft raised a surprised brow.

Mycroft silently cursed himself for accidentally parroting the DI; but he was quite taken aback by the question. He and Gregory met at least every other week. At first as a means of his checking up on his brother and later simply because he realized one day he actually enjoyed the man’s company. It was one of the gazillion things he would never be able to tell the man. Still all of their meetings were under the guise of business, even if none happened.

_Is he asking me out on a date? He must be more drunk than I thought._

“You know…drinks...when people get together to enjoy a liquid libation, usually and in this case preferably, but not necessarily, alcoholic in nature?” Gregory teased.

Mycroft was a thousand percent sure Gregory Lestrade was oblivious as the man took a maraschino cherry from a jar and popped it into his mouth. He knew what Gregory was going to do by the way his lips moved. Still seeing him pull the knotted stem between his teeth came as a surprise. 

_I did not know he could do that._

“You want to go out with me?” Mycroft had to force himself to breathe.

Gregory’s paused in surprise at his question as he popped another cherry into his mouth.

Mycroft realized his slip “I meant for a drink…”

The first time with the cherry Gregory was oblivious. This time Mycroft was aware the man knew exactly what he was doing. He kept his face serene at Gregory’s salacious display but on the inside?

_And there’s a thousand new thoughts involving that dexterous tongue on the list of things the man can never know I think of._

“I know what you said and I know what you meant.” Gregory pulled the knotted stem out, “And the answer to both is _yes_.”

“Excuse me?” Mycroft blinked.

_He wants to go out for drinks AND he wants to go out with me?_

“Look, I’m well into my cup and I know you’re not going to take anything I say tonight serious, but I know you won’t forget. I’m going to kip out here; because I have to sleep off what I’ve done before I head out, but call me in the morning.” Gregory sat on the sofa and proceeded to remove his boots. “Promise me.”

“Why must I promise you?” Mycroft huffed at the demand for he knew that is what it was. He picked up his umbrella and briefcase to leave.

“Because I’m serious and I don’t want you to use my current state as a reason to back out of it by avoiding it.” Gregory stretched out on the sofa “Promise me you’ll call me, Mycroft Holmes.”

“And if I don’t?” Mycroft challenged even as he swallowed at the sight of Gregory on the couch, just a hint of belly showed when his t-shirt pulled up as he stretched.

“I assure you I will bring a jar of maraschino cherries to each and every time we meet for a Sherlock update.” Gregory pulled a cherry from the jar and dangled it over his out-stretched tongue before he drew it into his mouth and chewed. “Every. Time.”

Again he knotted a cherry stem in his mouth and stuck his tongue out balancing the stem on the tip before he let it fall into his hand.

“You do realize that’s an incentive to not call you.”

It was one of the rare times in his life words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Perhaps…” the man simply grinned as he sat up and took another cherry out of the jar.

He laid back, “but if you promise to call, I know you’ll keep it. You don’t break your word.”

Gregory held the dripping cherry over the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

“And someday soon, if we’re both _very lucky_ , you can do more than watch.”

Mycroft eyes were riveted to the blatant display as two red spots drops appeared there.

_The man is a damned incubus!_

“Mycroft…?” Gregory’s voice was unbelievably soft and damned if he did not like sound of it from those cherry stained lips with more things rapidly adding to his list.

_An incubus who wants me._

“Yes, Gregory?” He forced his eyes to look into Gregory’s.

Greg stood and approached Mycroft as he ate the cherry. He stopped centimeters in front of Mycroft, his warm eyes left no chance for misinterpretation of his desire. Mycroft realized while Gregory was indeed inebriated he in fact was NOT drunk and meant every word.

_My god he really wants me._

“Would you like to go out Mycroft?” Gregory asked.

Mycroft could feel the warmth of his breath; smell the cherries, the scotch, and the scent that was innately Gregory.

And the reality that all those thoughts he could never tell him may in fact be told someday.

“I meant for a …” Gregory started to correct himself at Mycroft’s silence.

“I know what you said and I know what you meant. And the answer to both is _yes_.” Mycroft smiled, this time not angry as he repeated Gregory’s words to him from moments ago.

Gregory’s hand reached out as he leaned in. Mycroft could not lie to himself at the disappointment when Gregory raised a hand and stopped the lean the Iceman had not realized he started until Gregory thwarted it when he reached behind him and flipped off the lights to the salon instead.

“There will be no excuses the first time we do that either.” He smiled knowingly as he backed away.

_The man is a detective inspector for a reason._

Gregory walked over to the lamp by the window and turned that off as well before he went back to the sofa and laid down.

“Promise you’ll call me in the morning, Mycroft.” Gregory demanded from the sofa. “Not...politician to cop. Just you to me.”

Mycroft looked at the detective inspector in the semi dark room as he put his hand on the door and pulled it closed it behind him without a word.

Just before he left the premises he sent a text.

> I promise to call you in the morning Gregory if you promise me to eat a maraschino cherry during our first drinks together when you’re back. You now have it in writing.  
>   –MH

He looked up at the windows and waited. He was treated to the sight of a most beatific smile as Gregory came to the window and saw him. He watched as a response was typed.

> I promise!  
>  –GL

* * *

A few days after she had asked her boss the question, Anthea rode in the sedan when her mobile pinged. She grinned at the ID having expected it.

> How did M seduce GL?  
>  –SH
> 
> Confidential. But -- other way ‘round.  
>  –A
> 
> Surely not.  
>  –SH

She grinned as she showed the message to Gregory and Mycroft who were dropping her off at home before the two went out for drinks again. She held her hand out to her boss.

“Day five. That’s less than a week.” Gregory laughed as Mycroft took out his wallet and handed her some notes.

**Author's Note:**

> Also prompted by [_this GIF_ ](https://78.media.tumblr.com/358b8de6f27a6dca96733b25e76fd2da/tumblr_ne4fkgdyYt1r4aqvmo2_500.gif?fbclid=IwAR261dJJcFn-C_c_QBhhnbJS4vW-o75n2bkX9_js-4nDhwtbhjSiGWtM4xA)


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